Distant
by sakiyamas
Summary: "Since that day, I'm not aware of what I've been thinking of for the past ten years."


_Inspired by "A Clingy Boy Sticking for 15 Years" by Yuuma._

xxxxx

The first year my letters were almost daily. I wrote you essays worth of my love. I promised you the world and used all the best thought out analogies and proclamations of love that I could to show you how much I loved you. I'd always enjoyed literature and writing these letters wasn't much of a problem. I'd type them on my laptop, sometimes enduring sleepless nights because I was attempting to complete them by some imaginary deadline. When I finished I'd print them out and send them to you. I never deleted the files from my folders and kept them as bittersweet memories. I thought that maybe, because you weren't responding to them, you weren't getting them. That maybe when you came to see me again I'd show you all the letters you had missed out on.

The second year I stopped writing on the weekends because I became a third year at my high school. I knew that I had to put serious attention to my studies so I'd be successful. If you knew I was doing that, you'd be happy, so that's why I pushed myself to spend a little less time writing those letters to you. Nonetheless I kept writing them to you and mailing them to you. I was still running on a strong fuse and I haven't run out of ideas of what to write to you.

The third year Haruka, who was my room mate at college, encountered the letters and suggested I get them published in a book that served as a compilation of them. He had always silently appreciated my works and occasionally complimented them. This time around it could have been because he thought they were good enough to be publish, but more likely than not it was because he wanted me to take my mind off of you for once. Absentmindedly I did as he recommended and without a lot of trouble and with his help they were published into a book. I didn't care too much for that. All I could truly focus on was spending any little bit of the limited free time I had on writing those letters to you. The more I wrote, the more I felt that you'd answer. During those three years, you answered to a total of zero of my letters.

The fourth year I became even busier with sudden fame over these stories of love that I had published. I'd be invited to local bookstores for signings and there would be some crowd of young girls wanting my attention so desperately. They wanted to know me, the boy they recognized as perhaps the most romantic person of their times. They wanted that romance to themselves, but I was interested in someone much different. I was caught up in getting you attention and love when you wouldn't even answer to any of the letters I've been sending you. I didn't care for the others as much as I care for you, and it was possible that I would never care as much for them as much as I did for you.

By the fifth year I was no longer spending my breaks from college at home or with my friend Haruka. I was typically spending them by going to various parts of Tokyo for more book signings and more young girls who absolutely adored me. My writing was limited to whenever I had time off from them. Those girls left me roses, numbers, long letters of their undying love for me. Occasionally young boys would be in the mix too and they'd do the same. I never turned down any of their affections, but I never accepted to any sorts of relationships they offered me. I'd always say I'm taken, and when they asked by who I would say that I was taken by you; that only you could hold and kiss me so tenderly, only you could bring out the passion in me for long lusty sessions at night, that only you would have my dedication for the rest of my life. These people, who loved me enough to travel miles and miles and write me beautiful letters, bring me various little things as romantic gestures, and support me could not take my mind off you. You, who wouldn't even answer one of the letters I've been sending you for years now. You, who hasn't shown any sign of life for me. You've shown absolutely no pity for me.

Into the sixth year I felt myself losing my inspiration and patience. I didn't write too many letters to you that year. In fact, that year I wasn't paying much attention to too much going in my life. The most vibrant memory for the sixth year was my graduation where I was asked to read some excepts from my book. I looked out to see if you were there in the crowd, and I was the idiot for hoping that you'd be there to greet me, to say that you've read all of my letters, you've fallen in love with me and my writings, and had come on that special day to see me and accept my romantic feelings. Haruka and I went out for drinks that day and even my drunk state and the bitter taste lingering in my mouth could not remove you from my thoughts.

Seventh year and still nothing from you. My fame had calmed down (although I will still continue to get fan mail and invites for local signings) and life events seemed to be more at ease. I began work as an honors literature teacher for incoming first years of high school. While they did their work, I would write out letters to you. I didn't pay too much attention to the work they did for me and it became known that Tachibana-senpai's class was very easy to pass and that he himself was one of the nicest people at the school. I was a beloved teacher, admired by both the students and the staff, yet nothing could be enough for the empty spot that yearned to be filled with your love for me and not theirs.

I was hospitalized for exhaustion during the eighth year. That year Haruka voluntarily moved in with me and made sure that I recovered properly, even if moving in and caring for me temporarily was much to his inconvenience because of his busy schedule. I wrote less than ten letters to you that year. Haruka said many times that I needed to stop and calm down or else I'd become even sicker and die. Knowing that I couldn't die, that I mustn't die before I was given the chance to have mutual feelings shared with you, I listened to him and restricted myself on writing. Also, to the dismay of the school, I was also asked to take a temporary leave of work. Knowing how piteous my state was, I hoped you would feel pity for my shameful condition and come to give someone as pathetic as me some attention. Yet, you never did.

I've lost count how many letters I've sent by the ninth year. The year of hospitalization left me with more time to think, to become wiser. Yet despite me becoming a smarter person, the year after I became sick my letters to you became a desperate cry for help instead of something more clever and witty. I begged for your attention in them, promising that I'd leave you alone if you would just answer one. My cries for attention didn't phase you and you never answered.

Now on the tenth year my health becomes progressively worse. I don't eat much, my students make me much more irritable, I have bags under my eyes. My skin has a yellow undertone and my once muscular body seems stringy. I am not the boy I was ten years ago and Haruka has had enough.

"He's not going to get them," he says one day into my ear coldly, yet I know he puts it in the most gentle way possible. "I understand that you miss him and you'll never overcome what happened to him and the effect it left on you. I understand your undying love for him. But, seriously?" He eyes my hand. I look at the bottle with the letter in my hand sadly and look off into the ocean in front of me blankly as he continued scolding me. "It's been ten years, Makoto. Rei hasn't gotten a single letter and he never will. What the hell have you been thinking all these years, for God's sake?"

I've been thinking that maybe if the ocean took you, it can take these letters to you too and motivate you to come back into my life... to forgive me for failing to save you.


End file.
